


Still I Dream

by notmyyacht



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon Divergence, F/M, post season 7 canon divergence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-20
Updated: 2013-08-20
Packaged: 2017-12-24 02:28:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/934119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notmyyacht/pseuds/notmyyacht
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At the mercy of the King of Hell, Meg thinks on a certain angel who was more than just a pretty face.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Still I Dream

Pain and darkness.

That’s all Meg is aware of for who knows how long. She had put up a fight; like hell was she going to let a couple of petty pawns of Crowley take her, but more had shown up and dragged her to Hell.

In Crowley’s renovated Pit, there was a corridor that broke off from the infinite hall where the damned stood forever waiting in line. The separate corridor had no portraits of its king, no florescent lighting overhead, but it did lead to a door at the end of it. Beyond the door was emptiness where the demon grunts chucked her and all she could do was wait. It wasn’t long before Crowley paid her a visit. That’s where the days began to blur together.

Meg can handle torture. At least, she thought she could. Crowley was a master with a scalpel and it was not that he was drilling into her for information, as he is so good at collecting. This was all about pleasure. There was no holding back.

Stripped of clothes -even skin in some places-, Meg lay strapped to the table as Crowley split her apart day after day. Time after time, she came to know when Crowley was finished with her for a while was when she was bathing in her own blood and the searing pain had become numb. Then, when the King of Hell returned to blow off steam once again he would heal her on the spot and begin the torment anew.

It could have been days or years and Meg couldn’t tell the difference.

 _Hell is funny with time_ she would humorlessly chuckle to herself before Crowley would slit her throat just enough so she would be drowning.

“Why don’t you just kill me?” she asks once before the King begins again.

“Now, now, love. This is therapeutic for me.” He picks up an instrument that resembles a corkscrew.

More than once the thought of an angel crosses her mind. _Dean better be taking care of him_. Meg can feel a hooked blade being twisted inside of her. _Idiot is probably collecting honey right now._ Twenty iron pins are pushed into the flesh of her stomach. _He wasn’t the brightest angel in the Heavens but he sure did stand out._ Her screams echo in the dark room. Does it have any walls? _Poetic bastard._ Slice. _We’re going to Heaven, Clarence._  Didn’t know tearing flesh could make sounds like that. _My caretaker._ Hush.

For a long time the room goes silent. Crowley is busy attending to other matters. But the silence is deafening and Meg wishes that he were there to at least make her scream to fill the emptiness. She closes her eyes and waits. Crowley does not come.

 Then she hears the familiar door open. Her eyes are still shut but she can tell that a bright light is shining on her. A smile tugs at the corner of her mouth. _Here we go again._

But instead of hearing the usual cockney accent in greeting, she hears a familiar gruff voice.

“Meg.”

Her eyes crack open. The muscles in her face are too weak to open them completely. Castiel is looking down upon her. Meg says nothing as her angel undoes the straps and scoops her into his arms.

“Are you hurt?” he asks.

Meg wants to say something witty about how she’s a big girl and didn’t need rescuing. Instead, she lets her head fall onto his shoulder and says, “Shut up.”


End file.
